my mountains are made
of concrete and brick.
metal, smoking animals
crawl through my
cave.
bellowing and loud
sometimes they
hit us.
i feed here and here
is where my mate
and family dwells.
my aerie is a
compartment
a recess in the wall.
here i nest and
i rest.
i do not complain.
i can hide from the
winds and the
snows
and the rain.
 |
| painted 7/27/14 |
I love this poem!! I also love pigeons, raised one from a bare naked squab. He grew up with a Boxer who waited to lick the dish and syringe at feeding time, and a squirrel who was paralyzed from the waist down. When I tried to introduce him to my 2 ringneck turtle doves, he freaked out. He was imprinted on us and had no idea he was a pigeon, still doesn't after 19 years. He is the guardian of my bedroom and the upstairs.
ReplyDelete❤️🕊that is a beautiful thing you did for that precious baby bird and your other critters. So very glad you enjoyed my poem and thank you 🕊❤️
ReplyDelete